A Master of Shapes and Changes of Hue
by Doktor Girlfriend
Summary: Radagast gets to touch an Elf, and Erestor gets off with a warning.


Title: A Master of Shapes and Changes of Hue  
Author: Rei-hime  
Cast: Radagast, Figwit, Erestor  
Rating: PG (for extremely mild drug use, equally mild swearing, and ear-fondling)  
Warnings: Tricksy wizards, belladonna, and neon green hair  
Summary: Radagast gets to touch an Elf, and Erestor gets off with a warning.  
Disclaimer: Even though I'm pretty sure Tolkien never dreamed of an Elf named Figwit or a female Radagast, sadly neither can I claim them as my own.  
Notes: A sequel to The Magic Rat's ficlet "There's Got to be a Morning After." My Radagast is a girl. I could have sworn she was male in the beginning. Starting to suspect she's a shapeshifter – it would explain the squirrel that keeps getting in my closet and eating my shoes. Also, as a result of writing this, Figwit/Radagast is my new OTP.  
--indicates a POV change.

**A Master of Shapes and Changes of Hue**

**By Rei-hime**

"Yes, it was a fine party, I suppose. I'm not very fond of them – too noisy, too many people. I only came because Gandalf thought I needed to socialize, and of course he disappeared on me as soon as we got here."

Radagast sighed and sipped her tea in a long-suffering manner, peering interestedly at a dragonfly perched on top of a plate of biscuits.

"He was supposed to have tea with me today, but he forgot. He always forgets," she sighed again, seeming faintly disappointed and setting her cup down. "Hmmm, but no matter," she decided, smiling brightly. "I'm enjoying your company rather more, anyway, sir."

The dragonfly twitched it wings and buzzed on the plate in front of her.

"Oh, really?" she blinked, her smile fading slightly. "Well, if you must. No, it really wouldn't be kind to leave your wife alone for so long with so many eggs."

She inclined her head to the dragonfly as it lit on her offered finger.

"It was lovely talking with you, sir. My regards to your family."

The dragonfly took off, buzzing merrily toward the far end of the gardens. Radagast waved politely after it before returning to her tea, alone once more.

_This place is rather dull, isn't it? _she thought idly, eating a biscuit without any particular passion and apparently unbothered by the fact that a large insect had recently been sitting on it. _I don't know why everyone makes such a fuss about it. Perhaps it's a bit more lively when its entire population isn't nursing hangovers. I've never known any living creatures to drink as much as these Elves do!_

She dropped her biscuit half-eaten onto her saucer and pouted. She was terribly bored and a bit lonely. True enough, she preferred to avoid other people on most occasions, but when she had no choice but to be around them, she enjoyed it if at least one person paid attention to her. Perhaps the person who brought her here in the first place?

_Curses upon you, Gandalf. I'd give you donkey's ears if I had any idea where you were._

The sound of plodding footsteps distracted her from fantasies of giving Gandalf a tail to match the ears. Someone else was in the gardens, and, judging from the slow, heavy footfalls, they were not in a good mood. Curious, Radagast padded quickly over to crouch among the azalea bushes that lined the garden path, peered covertly between the branches, and was blinded.

"Augh!" She clapped both hands protectively over her eyes and staggered back a step, shaking her head to clear her vision.

The footsteps came to an abrupt stop, and there was a shuffling sound, like soft shoes turning against stone.

"Hello?" a bemused voice inquired.

Shielding her still smarting eyes, Radagast risked another glance between the branches. There was an Elf standing on the path before her. He had blond hair. Horrifically blond hair. Such horrifically blond hair that the afternoon sun glaring off it was enough to give anyone temporary snow-blindness, Istari or not. It was such a garish shade that it barely seemed natural, and it looked all wrong on him. In fact…

She squinted and focused on his face.

It _was_ wrong on him. She had seen this Elf at the party last night, drinking so much she'd been astounded he was managing to stand upright. Only last night he'd had dark hair. Lovely, long dark auburn hair almost as beautiful as Master Elrond's. She'd wanted so badly to touch it, but the quite rational fear that the Elf might suddenly throw up had kept her out of fawning distance. Such beautiful hair…

An uncharacteristic surge of anger traveled through her chest. It was appalling what had happened to those gorgeous tresses. It was a sin! Who in their right mind would commit such a terrible act?

Unaware of her angered musings and convinced he was hearing things, the Elf turned to continue down the garden path. As he passed her, Radagast could smell the chemical stench of bleach that reminded her strongly of her former master. She could also see that the change of color was not the extent of the damage inflicted on his once lovely hair – the braids that adorned it were oddly stiff, and there was a large mat in the back the likes of which she'd only seen on severely neglected sheep.

He was leaving the gardens now, heading, based on his direction, to the stables. Far too curious to mind her own business, Radagast emerged from the azaleas and followed him.

_Oh, what is his name? It's something funny…_

--

"…Figwit, sir?"

For the second time in as many minutes, Figwit was startled by an unseen voice. This time, however, when he turned to look, he found the source. Behind him on the stone path stood a young Mannish woman and it was a moment before he recognized her as Radagast the Brown, the odd little witch that had arrived last night with Mithrandir. He still couldn't quite believe she was an Istari – she was nothing like what he'd come to expect. She looked young, far younger than any wizard he'd ever seen, like an Elf just past her fifth century, or a human just beginning her third decade. She had the same eyes as Mithrandir, kind, blue, and twinkling, but hers were larger and framed by hair of golden brown instead of grey, though it was every bit as long as Mithrandir's beard. Her travel-worn and overlarge brown robe and hat and her open, friendly face made her look just as simple and content as the stories said… though they'd left out the part about her being a girl.

"Mas—Madam Radagast," he greeted, bowing his head politely. "How are you?"

"Well, thank you." She inclined her head also, smiling hesitantly. "F-forgive me, sir, but… what in the seven levels of hell has happened to your hair?"

He cringed slightly and dropped his gaze. Stumbling across an Istari so unexpectedly had actually made him forget for a moment, but now the heavy, nauseous feeling of dread returned to settle in his midriff, and he felt like he had all morning, like throwing up. This must have shown on his face, for the woman's softened.

"Oh, sir, someone has played an awful prank on you, haven't they?"

She smiled suddenly, in a cheerful and untroubled way, and took his hand. "Come, sir," she beckoned, gently tugging on his arm, "come with Radagast. We will have tea and biscuits, and perhaps she will be able to help you."

Figwit was not at all sure he wanted to have tea with this strange witch whom he'd known for all of five minutes. He was supposed to be at the stables, after all, and from there to wherever Erestor believed would be most humiliating for him. And it would certainly cut into the time he'd allotted for moping and silent raging. But her smile was kind and her grip was firm (and she'd mentioned cookies), and in the end he allowed her to lead him back down the garden path and to her little table.

--

"Would you like some more, sir?"

"What? Oh… Thank you, yes."

Radagast smiled as gently as she knew how as she refilled Figwit's empty cup. The poor thing was rather skittish, but that was understandable considering what had been done to him. He hadn't yet told her how it had happened; he was far too nervous to talk.

_Well, we'll fix that, _she thought, adding a small dash of something special to his tea when he wasn't looking.

"Now," she said cheerfully, returning his refilled cup to him. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Still he seemed very reluctant to talk about it, but the more time went by and the more dashes of something special she added to his tea, the more relaxed he became, and before long he was telling her the whole tragic tale: how he had drunk too much at the party and made a fool of himself over Lord Glorfindel; how in revenge Master Erestor had bleached his beloved hair blond while he slept; how everything he'd done trying to fix it had only made it worse; how Erestor was sending him all over the valley so everyone could see; how Lord Elrond had laughed and the archers had pulled his braids, called him "kiddo," and given him noogies; how he'd never been more humiliated in his entire life; and most of all how no one at all seemed to care that he was upset.

"Well… except you," he sniffled, drying his eyes, a note of gratitude in his voice.

Radagast reached across the table and patted his hand sympathetically. "I do, sir," she assured him, letting her hand linger. "This is all rather unfair."

It was true. Really, Figwit was a sweet Elf –_cute too_- and he seemed honestly sorry for his actions at the party. _Everyone makes fools of themselves sometimes. Should they really be punished so severely for it? _Master Erestor might think his little vengeance quite clever, but its effects were too long-lasting to be justifiable.

"Yes, I'll have to do something about this."

Figwit smiled at her, the first time she'd seen him do so. "You're very kind, my lady, but I don't think there's anythi—"

He paused, looking mildly confused. He blinked slowly several times then yawned, loud and long. The hand reaching for his tea went lax. His head drooped, his eyes closed, and he slumped forward on the table, fast asleep.

"Poor dear," Radagast cooed softly, removing Figwit's cup and saucer so they wouldn't be spilled. "He's drowsy. Belladonna in your tea will do that to you."

Smiling, she pulled her chair over behind his and, before setting to work, took a moment to tweak and fondle his ears. After all, she'd never been this close to an Elf before, and she didn't want to let the opportunity pass. Figwit murmured in his sleep and shifted so his head was pillowed on his arms.

"Pleasant dreams, sir," she crooned, running her fingers through his hair, feeling the strands loosen under her touch. "And don't worry about a thing. The Brown Witch is here."

--

The first things Figwit noticed when he awoke an hour or so later were that his ears were pleasantly warm and that he no longer detected the scent of bleach that had been haunting him all day. He raised his head from his arms, blinking, and rubbed at his eyes. Radagast was gone, and in her wake she'd left only the plate of cookies, a note, and a small mirror. Frowning and wondering what lovely sort of surprise he was going to get this time, he opened the note, munching on a cookie while he read.

_Figwit, sir,_

_I hope you slept well and that you are pleased with my work. It took me nearly half an hour to get the shade just right. Luckily, I have an excellent memory for color and I had your eyebrows to go on. I do hope I gave it the correct texture; as much as I was tempted to, I've never touched it before today. If there are any further corrections that need to be made, I'll be happy to oblige. It is my area of expertise._

_Have a wonderful afternoon and, if I don't see you again today, a lovely evening and night as well. And please do not worry about having any further retribution visited upon you. The wise do not meddle in the affairs and friends of wizards, and only a damn fool would dream of doing so with those of a witch._

_Yours in Friendship,_

_Radagast the Brown_

_PS: I would advise you not to drink so very much at any future social gatherings. You did make a spectacular idiot of yourself last night._

_PPS: You can have the rest of the biscuits._

Figwit read and reread the note several times, his expression rather comically bemused. After a near eternity, he raised a shaking hand to his hair. It floated through his fingers soft and easy as water.

Swallowing hard against the threat of his heart leaping out of his throat, Figwit reached for the small mirror and slowly lifted it to eye level. It was impossible, it was too much to hope for, he couldn't possibly believe…

--

"_There_ you are, child. Where have you been? Didn't I tell you hours ago t—"

It took something unperceivably shocking to make Erestor's jaw drop, and this apparently qualified. Figwit stood before him in the corridor, all smiles and bright eyes and very brunette.

"You… Your…" Finding himself speechless was an even rarer occurrence.

Figwit beamed. "Forgive me, Master Erestor. I was with a friend."

"…A friend?" he asked distractedly, his gaze fixated on Figwit's hair. How? How in Udun?

"Yes." He continued to smile cheerfully. "I apologize again. Is there anything you'd have me do now?"

Drawing from every fiber of patience and rationality within his person, Erestor swiftly reacquainted his face with its usual veneer of intelligence and impressive aloofness.

"Go to the library, Figwit," he answered evenly. "Wait for me there. I need a moment to think."

"Right away, Master Erestor," Figwit replied brightly and, still beaming, continued on his way down the corridor, walking with a slight bounce in his step that caused his hair to flounce after him.

Erestor stared after him, his eyes following the swinging dark locks in disbelief. It was impossible. He'd used enough. He'd made sure that it took. There wasn't anything that would remove it. So how in hell had it--?

"Master Erestor, sir."

He started very slightly and turned. The Brown Witch Radagast was standing where Figwit had previously stood, smiling in the same inanely cheerful manner that he had. Without any preamble, she pushed two objects into his hands then lifted one of her own to fondly stroke his hair.

"Lovely," she commented before removing her hand and passing him by, following in Figwit's footsteps.

Erestor stared after her as well. _The entire valley has lost its mind,_ he decided, looking down to inspect the gifts she had forced onto him. In his right hand he held a folded bit of paper and in his left was a mirror.

He shrieked and dropped them both.

Green! He gazed in horror at his distorted reflection in the shattered mirror. His hair was green! It was NEON green! Panicked, he clutched at his hair, his body beginning to quiver in shock. And as if in empathy, his hair instantly changed to starkest white.

Horrified, moaning weakly, Erestor watched as the broken bits of the mirror became a kaleidoscope of colors. From white his hair changed to bright blue, and from that to flame red, and soon after to garish orange, quickly followed by bubblegum pink, then a sickly yellow with dark purple blotches…

Crying softly in dismay, Erestor sank to his knees. But just as he felt ready to rip his hair from its very roots, it stopped. The hair clenched tight in his fists was once again sleek and black as if nothing had happened. He ran his fingers through it fretfully, shaking all over, then nearly fell to the floor, clutching his chest and groaning in relief. He stared at the shattered mirror, still shaking and seeking assurance that his hair was normal again. His eyes then fell on the bit of paper, which lay open next to the glass and on which someone had written.

_Master Erestor, sir,_

_Did I frighten you terribly?_

_As you might now be suspecting, it was I who returned Figwit's hair to its original, unaltered state. You see, I thought that you were rather unnecessarily harsh in your punishment of him. He really is a nice young Elf, and he was truly remorseful for his behavior at your anniversary celebration, even before he discovered your clever little trick. Perhaps you should have given him a chance to apologize before you assaulted his head (and perhaps you should ask your devoted husband why he even allowed another Elf to remain in his lap long enough to fawn over his hair)._

_Please do not attempt to exact further revenge on Figwit for the failure of your first attempt, and please leave color-changing to the professionals. I've found this place to be more interesting than I originally thought, so I'll be sticking around. And I will be watching you. You see, Master Erestor, sir, I'm letting you off with a warning. Next time I'll make it permanent. The green is my particular favorite, but I'm rather fond of the white on you as well._

_In other words, Master Erestor, lighten up or your hair will._

_Cheerfully Yours,_

_Radagast the Brown, Master of Hues (do remember that)_

**END**


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